Da Capo
by Aussie Oswin
Summary: Horrified with what he's done, Loki finds a way to send himself back to before it all went wrong. Hiding on Midgard, he decides to help people this time around, be a better person. Things don't quite go as planned.


**For Helena. You know who you are.**

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_Da capo: adv. From the beginning_

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"Michael!"

And it still took a moment before he realised they were calling his name.

The man took his latte and left, whistling as he bowed his head under the crusted cafe doors. The streets of New York greeted him with an ash dusted sky and tiny pearls of rain that hit the cobblestone alleyway with a whisper, a wash of liquid murmurings which accompanied the man's heavy footfalls. The trees that lined the walkway rustled and twitched as if to shake off the biting wind and the man drew in the collar of his felt coat and breathed hot air into his cupped palms, resenting any reminder that the cold brought. It was only when he turned the corner into his street that the chill managed to fully seep through his clothing and lick at his bones.

"Oh for Gods sake Mike, come on get inside. Hurry up I've godda show on. Another second out there an' you'll turn blue."

The man shut his eyes. "My name's Michael" he sighed.

"Mm, yeah, sure, but only when you don't forget your keys," said his landlady impatiently as she ushered him up the stairs to his apartment "Next time have a little more common sense before leaving, or I might just let you have fun being an icicle." A frown decorated her face but the man could see the spark of fire in her eye. He supposed that was why he didn't completely despise her.

"Goodness woman you might have a little more patience, if I could walk any faster, I would. " A pained expression twisted its way onto the man's face and he winced as he climbed to the next step.

The landlady rolled her eyes. "Oh don't pull that crap with me, _Mike. _Everyone knows you just play up that leg of yours to get a little sympathy with the ladies."

"I'll have you know…" he began.

"Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, it was a very serious accident, in which very serious things happened and we should all be very serious. Heard it all before…now, that wasn't so hard was it." She helped him up onto his landing. She would never understand why he didn't just take they elevator, but that was men for you, always wanting to prove their strength, and this man was the worst of the lot.

Aiden Clement was by no means what anybody would call easygoing. She seemed to be in a perpetual state of displeasure with the world, a state that she was all too happy to share with everybody else. The man was by far her favourite tenant simply because he was too apathetic to return her harsh words. In a way they were quite alike. However, where she released her frustration through a silver tongue, he merely sighed a lot, a trait that she supposed he knew annoyed her to no end. She was not only harsh in word but in appearance also. Short mousy brown hair framed her square-shaped face, with the left side always slightly shorter than the right. Aiden was one of those people for who stature wasn't an issue, and who always seemed quite tall until you compared heights. Her presence was formidable, and Aiden gave out an air that any arguments against her were all but futile. She owned a considerable amount of property, which the man had always considered strange since she didn't appear particularly rich. Despite everything, the man always looked forward to their brief encounters.

When he reached his apartment, Aiden abandoned him to go watch her show and he was able to relax for the first time that day. The man sank into his couch and hissed as he lifted his right leg onto the coffee table. He lived comfortably. He had enough money to buy something a little more ostentatious but recently he had opted to stay on the conservative side. Aiden often commented that he was way too practical for someone his age and the man always responded with a quiet chuckle that he felt as if he had lived 2000 years. He stood up but immediately stumbled and had to clutch onto the side of the grand piano that took pride of place in the centre of the living room. It was the only object in his home for which the man had not spared any expenses. He dragged himself up to sit on the piano stool. His fingers strayed onto the ivory keys and he began to paint; a flowing watercolour of notes that eased the pain in his leg and his heart. This was the only time that he allowed himself to dwell on dangerous thoughts. Stroking the piano keys he put on the clothes of who he once was and allowed the guilt and pain and unbearable happiness to rush back to him, because he knew as all musicians know that the music made everything a little easier to bare and once he left the sweeping melodies he also left a sliver of that part of himself behind.

Aiden was always complaining about the 'racket' the man made, but she never once made any move to stop him. At some point the man would catch her giving him a knowing look, but for the most part she left the details of that part of his life alone. Life was not perfect, but for the first time in a long time the man truly felt alive. He had carefully slid in and sculptured the perfect hollow for himself within the hustle of the everyday and the great city of New York accepted yet another soul into its framework. When coming here he had planned to make use of himself, attempt to right any wrongs he had committed but the longer he stayed, the more entrenched he had become in the texture of the community. Music had grasped at his heart and clung to it like a child to its mother, and the man discovered he was both his own driving force and melody and well as the slow, drawn out notes that held him back. He had once dreamt of his own song flooding the streets of this dynamic city, however now he kept it close, within his own ears and his own heart. Aiden, too absorbed in everybody else's problems, didn't take the time to find fault in this reserved nature of her tenant.

The man's fingers rose and fell like crashing waves upon the keyboard, pouring everything he was into this fragile vessel, paying no mind to the objects that began to levitate around him. As night fell and he painted every last drop of his soul into the music, he left the piano feeling nothing but the burst of an old name upon his lips, and the knowledge that life could not remain the same for a lot longer…

_Loki._


End file.
